fashion in 1940s

Thruster's marketers describe their product as a Personal Truth Verifier, different from its recognized cousin, the polygraph. You know, that is the gritty real-world lie detector where sweaty guys in fedoras wire you up under bright lights. Trustier is way more high-tech and user-friendly. You plug your phone into a simple little sensing oral appliance connect it for your computer. Then the software gets control of. According to the owner's Links Of London Bracelets manual, it uses "an ingenious new algorithm to detect vocal stress" and identifies shades of truth. Lying, it seems like, produces subtle "micro tremors" of tension in one's vocal cords that normally go undetected but could be acquired by Trustier. With each sentence or a reaction to a question, it flashes an email: "Truth." "Inaccurate." "Slightly Inaccurate." "Subject Not Sure." "False." Little graphs and electronic squiggles chart your conversation just like a type of psychic seismometer. The woodwind section will glare in the drummers. The brass section sticks their noses up at them. And then they emerge about the field one day minus the drum line and you know what? No one can march for the life of them. No one can keep their steps. Lines are squiggling forward and backward. Formations which are once crisp and defined have become sluggish and bloated looking. That perfectly formed capital 'O' this rock band worked so difficult on a week ago now resembles a half-hearted 'U'. What is wrong with everybody?